She moved her hand.
"What else?"
A gleam of triumph shot from his small eyes. He thought for a moment.
"Only this" he said, "and it is your welfare that I am now thinking of. When Lord Leycester returns from his fruitless errand, he will be in a fit state for consolation. You can give it to him. I have greatly over-rated the ingenuity and tact of Lady Lenore Beauchamp if that tact and ingenuity does not enable her to bring Lord Leycester Wyndward to her feet before the month has passed."
Pale and humiliated, but still meeting his sneering contemptuous gaze with steadfast eyes, she inclined her head.
"Is that all?"
"That is all," he said. "I can rely on you. Yes, I think—I am sure I can. After all, our interests are mutual!"
She gathered her shawl round her, and moved toward the path.
He raised his hat.
"When next we meet, Lady Lenore, it will be as strangers who have nothing in common. The past will have been wiped out from both our minds and our lives. I shall be the chosen husband of Stella Etheridge and you will be the Lady Trevor and future Countess of Wyndward. I never prophesy in vain, my lady; I never prophesied more confidently than I do now. Good-night."